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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090443">Wint</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shouldbedoinghomework/pseuds/Shouldbedoinghomework'>Shouldbedoinghomework</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:01:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shouldbedoinghomework/pseuds/Shouldbedoinghomework</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sim arrived with ceremony, his face a mix of guilt and alarm, something close to what you may see on the face of a child who had stolen a sweet and a nobleman caught with his hand down another man's pants. He threw himself at the bench beside me, gripping a small bundle. I raised a brow at him. </p><p>--------------</p><p>Kvothe the arcane/bloodless/kingkiller gets a kitten. Its good for his image.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“ Let it be known to all those lesser minded fools who think otherwise, this is not real food” Wil said, using an almost artful motion to push his goulash from one side of the bowl to another. I had not a problem with it, and ate it as he complained. Sim arrived with ceremony, his face a mix of guilt and alarm, something close to what you may see on the face of a child who had stolen a sweet and a nobleman caught with his hand down another man's pants. He threw himself at the bench beside me, gripping a small bundle. I raised a brow at him.</p><p>“ I couldn't leave the poor thing there, but we aren't allowed pets at the Mews” he said forlornly, unwrapping the pile to reveal a small, black cat. At least it appeared to be, it was so caked in dirt it's true color was a mystery. Small would be an understatement, as it was barely larger than a man's hand. Wil curled a lip back, perhaps catching a whiff of it, making a face similar to the one he pulled when I called the brown loaves they served here bread.<br/>
“ What is that? What if it is diseased?” He cringed. Sim looked distraught at the thought, as if it hadn't occurred to him until that very moment. The kitten pawed weakly at the cloth containing him, a half-hearted effort to get out. I wasn't particularly fond of kittens, but it reminded me so thoroughly of a starved street-child that I took pity on it. I poured a small amount of milk into a bowl and placed it on the bench before it while Sim and Wil bickered. It looked over at me with surprisingly clear eyes, sniffed the bowl hesitantly, then lapped at it with a tiny, pink tongue.<br/>
“ We are not keeping that thing in our room” Wil insisted. Sim turned to me with pleading eyes, and I knew what he would suggest before he could speak the words. I shook my head. I did not need another responsibility, not with the University and Denna and learning the name of things. Sim looked down, his eyes brimming almost theatrically with tears, and I wondered if he had picked up more from me than I had intended. I released a breath and looked down at it, the pitiful thing peered up at me as if it knew I was deciding its fate, and wanted to plead on its behalf.<br/>
“ I suppose I could make a corner for it in my room. But you're in charge of that” I told Sim sharply, and his eyes cleared so quickly the tears that had just been glistening seemed to have been a trick of the sympathy light.<br/>
“ And you are to take him to Mola. She may know something about checking it for disease.” I insisted, and he nodded excitedly. He was so eager for me to accept him I almost dared ask for a talent a span for its rent, but then caught myself. I didn't need the money now. It had finished lapping up the milk and now tried to walk along the bench to sniff its new companions. I let it. I felt a little, tiny nose press against my hand and something inside my chest shifted. I peered at it and ascertained that it was a boy.<br/>
“ I shall call it Wint. Do you accept that?” I asked it formally. Names are not a thing to be trifled with, or given and taken on a whim. It just nuzzled my hand again, and I took that as a yes.<br/>
“ To the Medica?” Sim said, his face eager. “ Mola is there today,” he continued. I nodded, finishing up my food with two quick bites. Wil left his unfinished, seeming entirely unhappy with how this turned out. Sim gathered him back into his cage, which I now recognized as one of his black sweaters. We crossed the pathways to the Medica, the chill forcing me to pull my cloak tighter around me. The weather had begun to turn, and few things imaginable were harder to bear than the thought of the impending cold.<br/>
Sim went up to fetch Mola, fearing the rebuke Master Arwyl would give if a dirty homeless cat entered his inner sanctum. I held it hesitantly in my hands, trying to avoid touching it too much, in case Wil was correct. Mola and Sim returned moments later, both with excited grins on their face. Unusual for the former, not so for the latter. Mola held out her hands expectantly, forgoing any greeting. I handed her the little thing. She peered at it affectionately.<br/>
“ We must clean it first, of course. It's filthy.” She declared, as if she had much experience in the rescuing and nursing of tiny kittens and we were all bumbling fools. We ended up at my rooms in the Ankers as there was no better place to care for him. I reminded her sharply to not make a mess as she fetched a bucket from the kitchen and used a quick binding to the fire to heat it. She pointedly ignored me. To say the kitten was not fond of the water would be like saying the same of Ambrose's feelings towards me. Suffice to say, Mola did not make it out of it without a few nasty scratches.<br/>
We watched in fascination as its fur appeared in its true color, a soft, snowy white. When he was finally freed of the bath he wandered around my room, leaving little drops behind him and the smallest pawprints imaginable. He sniffed at my shoes, tried to scratch at my bedpost, but lost interest. He turned in circles around when Sim used a bit of sympathy to tease him with a stick, jerking it away from him before he could catch it.<br/>
We then heard a sharp rap on the door. Three pairs of eyes looked at it curiously. I opened it with little trepidation and it slipped away when I realized that it was Fela. Then it returned, sudden as a storm, when I spotted the look on her face. I stepped aside quickly as she strode in.<br/>
“ Did you forget something, dearest?” She said scathingly to Sim, not noticing Wint who had disappeared around my bed at the noise. Sims face fell and mouth opened, primed to apologize as is the only way to get out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into with her. I didnt envy the man. Before his words could take root, a small mewl was heard in the silence of the room.<br/>
“ What was that?” She asked. We all peered across the bed to see that Wint had tangled himself into one of my spare lute strings. I sighed.<br/>
“ I'm assuming the reason you're late has to do with that?” She asked, pointing to him. But her face had softened, and I knew as well as Sim did that the storm had calmed. He sighed in relief. Fela stepped around and knelt before him, unraveling the string with surprising tenderness. Wint looked at her and gave her a small sniff of appreciation.<br/>
“ It's just darling. Where did you find it? What is its name?” She said, picking it up in one hand while smoothing a finger down its back with the other. Sim filled her in quickly. She was quickly enamored with it, and told me that if I didn't keep it well she would report me to the University for cruelty unbecoming an Arcanist.<br/>
“ I have been accused of many things, but I don't believe that one exists” I retorted. She glared as she held Wint closer, the way one might cradle a newborn babe or a particularly valuable jewel.<br/>
“ I will make it a rule. He is precious” She said fiercely. Wil, Sim, and I exchanged a look, the kind of look that every man has exchanged at some time or another. It was a look that read Women, laced with the undertone that while we will never quite understand them, we must accept them. She hummed it a tune, a familiar one, and I almost caught myself grinning when I realized that she was singing it a lullaby, one that I heard before I had a thought as to what hearing was. Sim had gone and paid the dishwashers a penny for their old rags, and made a small bundle in the corner to let it rest on. Fela placed it down carefully, and we all watched it in trepidation for a few moments, but its eyes stayed closed.<br/>
Since we were University students first and spontaneous pet owners second, we went to the Archives to see if they had any books on animal care, our tried and true solution to all problems. Mola had to return to the Medica and explain her absence, so it was down to the four of us.<br/>
After some searching by our resident Scrivs, we came up with a book on superstitions about cats ranging through the empires, one that didn't seem to be about cats at all but had one engraved on the ancient cover, and the third that payed for them all. It was full account on caring for a cat, from birth to death, written by an overzealous veterinarian who lived surprisingly recently, gien the dust that had accumulated on the book. I suppose it wasnt one often read here.<br/>
Sim had settled into a table and began to copy over parts that seemed relevant. I thumbed through the book with the cat on the cover and an hour slipped by, the toll reminding us that we had a probably-starving kitten tucked away. We left the archives in a rush, and Sim stopped to purchase a few items from street side vendors.<br/>
We returned to my rooms, and I was almost surprised that it seemed to be silent, as if the presence of the little creature would have changed it. It slept still, rousing slightly when we entered but not enough to lift his head off his makeshift bed. Sim tread softly across the floor, placing the items he bought on my dresser. He left me with two pages of instruction written in his neat, tight handwriting, and informed me that he would return in the morning.<br/>
They bade their farewells, and then silence fell. Not complete silence, as there was the small, little breath of Wint, which seemed almost thunderous in the quiet room. I undressed and turned out my lamp. Then I heard it, the silence broken by a small cry. It wasn't like a child, rather the little sound one makes when they are beat beyond repair and can no longer form full sobs. It was a little sound, but it broke the silence into many, irretrievable parts. I switched my lamp back on and turned to its source. Wint had woken.<br/>
I knew this would be a handful of a beast. I stalked towards it, gentler when I saw how it cowered into the rags at the noise.<br/>
“ What do you want?” I asked it. It, of course, did not respond. I pet it softly and the crying ceased. I stepped back to my bed when the crying began again. I let out a string of curses aimed at Sim, who luckily was not in earshot. I doubt he would appreciate me talking about his mother that way. I turned back and lifted the little thing in my hand, placing it at the foot of my bed. It looked at me but did not whine. I climbed back into bed, careful in my movements so I didn't jostle it off the bed. I also added stern instructions that it remain there. He seemed to understand me.<br/>
Or not, as the next morning I woke with a small, warm weight in my palm. It was no small thing that I did not toss Wint across the room on instinct, but the seconds it took me to remember him made it a close call. I turned him onto my pillow and scolded him, but I feared even my best Taborlin the Great voice would not give him any pause. I let him sleep while I moved through the Ketan. I was so focused on my movements, trying to slide them together like pieces of a well-made puzzle, that I didn't notice when he finally woke.<br/>
I placed him on the floor and prepared a small plate for him, as dictated to me by Sims detailed notes. He picked at it while I returned to my work. A quick, efficient knock on the door paused me yet again. At moments like this I missed the peace of Ademre. I opened it to see a small messenger boy clutching a note in a gloved hand. I smiled, for I recognized him. He was one that Denna frequently used. As I suspected, the note was an invitation to lunch. I smiled at him and gave him a ha’penny for his trouble. I dressed, marveling at the thought of having to choose what to wear, rather than wear what was least shabby. It wasn't a feeling I took for granted. I almost turned to leave when I realized that Wint sat at my feet, looking at me expectantly.<br/>
I tried to shoo him away. He wouldn't budge. I picked him up and deposited him into the front pocket of my cloak, and he peeked his head out to observe his new territory, proud as a king on a throne. I took the carriage to Imre, no longer wary of the cost. It was beginning to be too cold to walk, and I would rather save the time and spend the coin.<br/>
The carriage jostled Wint deeper into my pocket, and I wondered absently if cats got carriage-sick, and how I would get vomit out of a cloak of shaed.<br/>
The carriage stopped outside of the Eolian and I hopped out nimbly. I greeted Deoch at the door and he motioned to a familiar figure sitting at the bar. I smiled at him and went up to her.<br/>
“ Is this seat taken?” I said in my most ingratiating imitation of an obnoxious bar-goer. She started then smiled, her face lighting up in a way that made some distant part of my brain want to compose songs about. I instructed it to save it for later, but jot down any promising ideas. Her eyes dropped from my face.<br/>
“ Is that a paw?’ She asked. I looked down in surprise that almost equalled her own. Then I remembered. I pulled Wint out with little ceremony and held him out to her. Her face lit up, much in the way Mola and Fela’s did. Perhaps there should be a book about mating rituals and kittens, as it seemed to be a promising avenue of exploration. She took it from my hand and held it up to her face. I was suddenly envious of Wint.<br/>
“ It's so small. Where did you get it?” She questioned, fiddling with its paw in a manner that almost resembled a handshake. I explained, waving over the barmaid as I did.<br/>
She cooed at Wint, further enforcing my theory about women and kittens, and went off to get us our food at drinks.<br/>
She returned with everything we ordered, and a small bowl or scraps for Wint, patting him on the head affectionately she left to serve the already-drunk nobleman on the other side of the room.<br/>
Denna peered at me, bemused at my sudden entry into fatherhood. She had expressed her desire for a pup to keep her company, but feared that her lifestyle wouldn't be conducive to it. I told her, as I had always, that I didn't see the point. A waste of talents, in my mind, considering how costly feeding and caring for them could be. But here we are.<br/>
“ It seems that you have a softer heart than you would like to let on, Oh feared Kvothe” She teased as she tucked into her food. The very thought unnerved me, but with Felas observations about my somewhat problematic reputation, perhaps softening my image wouldn't be the worst thing. I could think of far worse rumors to circulate about me than those saying I have a soft heart. I grimaced nonetheless. She smiled into her wine glass, hair pulled back to display a fine set of earrings that she hadn't worn before. My stomach rolled at the thought. Another suitor was the most logical explanation, and although I told myself otherwise I couldn't help but be envious. I reminded myself that they didn't get this, the carefree Denna with no false names or fears of what was expected of her, and the thought warmed me like a raging hearth on a cold winter day.</p>
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